


Lithium

by MistressOfMalplaquet



Series: Celestial Twins [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Black Widow - Freeform, Blackfrost - Freeform, Blood, Comfort, Complete, F/M, Gen, Guilt, Knifeplay, Loki Does What He Wants, Madness, Natasha is a BAMF!, Post-Thor: The Dark World, Smut, slight BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressOfMalplaquet/pseuds/MistressOfMalplaquet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She awoke in a mysterious hospital with no memory of how she got there. Blackfrost, rated M for eventual smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [t0bemadeofglass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0bemadeofglass/gifts).



> If you haven't watched Thor 2, The Dark World you'll need to wait to read Lithium - there are some serious spoilers.
> 
> That said, this is set post-TDW in a Blackfrost AU. I'm sticking as close as possible to canon for the personalities (I hope) but I always appreciate a nudge if I veer too far from the path. And as always, any reviews and comments receive lots of Loki lovebites and my thanks.

****  


_"Lithium is highly reactive and flammable."_

* * *

The needle was inserted into the delicate flesh of Natasha's inner arm. Deep within dreams of falling to earth inside the hellicarrier, she woke from a heavy, blacked-out slumber as soon as she felt the sharp prick . A blue-gloved hand applied cotton, depressed the plunger, and removed the needle.

She blinked, felt a salty crust at the corners of her eyes. How long had she slept? At that moment she had no idea; nor had she any memory of what happened to her or why she sat on a narrow bed in a tiny room receiving an injection.

It was vital to wait until she gathered as much information as possible before she allowed herself to react. Natasha watched the nurse put the hypodermic on a tray, flip her long, gleaming ponytail over one shoulder, and walk to the door.

"I stepped in gum on 42nd Street," Natasha said.

A look of surprise flitted across the nurse's face. She was pretty, with honeyed skin and large, dark eyes. "Really? Okay."

The correct response was "Make certain you scrape it off your shoe next time." Therefore the nurse wasn't a SHIELD ally, just someone who thought Natasha was a bit out of her mind to blurt such a thing for no reason. "Yeah," the agent said. She pretended to sink into lethargy.

"Stay still for a few minutes," the woman advised. "If you get up too soon you could become light-headed." With a flip of her long ponytail she closed the door.

Natasha waited until the click of nursing clogs died away in the distance. Silent as a shadow, she sat and eyed the injection site on her arm. Everything seemed normal – no swelling, no infection; the Red Room biomechanics in her body would quickly neutralize the drugs in her system.

She shivered and realized she was wearing a typical hospital gown open at the back. With a mental shrug -  _Time to go to work, Romanov_  - she hopped off the narrow bed and prowled the room. There was a table by the bed with several books on it and a small cup of water; she took a small sip and decided it was safe to drink.

An open doorway led to a small bathroom, edged with dirt and a stink so ripe it nearly brought tears to her eyes. Natasha had been in enough squalid places to ignore the smell for the moment; she decided she would find something to use as a cleanser before she entered the room again.

Returning to where the nurse had administered the injection, she took stock of the chamber. On the wall opposite the bed there was a small chest with one drawer. Inside she found several pairs of underwear, a pair of cotton drawstring pants, and an extra hospital gown. Cursing again in Russian – she had hoped to find a t-shirt or at least a bra – she knew she would have to bear the indignity of walking around with an institutional garment tied at the neck and baring her back.

Although she didn't have much hope, Natasha tried the door used by the nurse. To her surprise it opened easily. Maybe they thought she would fall sleep right away after the injection? In any case, she wasn't about to wait around and find out.

There was nothing in the room she could use as a weapon unless she was able to dismantle the table or the chest. Either would require some time and the sacrifice of several fingernails. Natasha decided to leave it until later; for the moment her own body would have to serve as her weapon. That would be no problem. The real question was how and when to use it, depending on whether the element of surprise was important or not. As usual she would have to rely on her instinct and wits to discover her next move.

The hall was deserted. Overhead, neon lights blinked and buzzed fitfully with the earmark of institutional architecture. There was a smell of pine cleanser failing to mask the smell of bodily fluids and despair; Natasha gave herself the task of finding a bottle later to make the disgusting bathroom usable.

Doors lined the passage. In one an old man lay in a bed moaning to himself about someone called Irene. In another a huddled shape rocked in one corner, head clutched in trembling hands. It was impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman.

_Shit._  No more denial – Natasha was inside a mental institution.

A man in a set of industrial scrubs with a generous thatch of chestnut curls pushing a mop in a scratched, yellow bucket of grey water rounded the corner. He stopped when he saw her. "New? First injection? Dayroom's down there. You can go and hang out if you want." He jerked one muscular arm behind him.

Natasha nodded. The hall widened into a large, circular room filled with scratched folding chairs, a sofa with duct-tape covering one cushion, low tables, and one old-fashioned console TV running silent cartoons in jagged, greenish colors. A kid stood in front of the screen voicing the dialogue – apparently he knew every line of Adventure Time.

One female patient sat in one of the sofas with her knees huddled to her chest. An inmate lay on the floor staring at the ceiling. Others paced by the barred windows or argued with unseen assailants in fierce voices. In the corner, a young man sat upright in one of the folding chairs, turned to face away from the room. His black hair spilled over his shoulders; he didn't move a muscle as two of the arguers stopped debating themselves and started to scream at each other with voices as harsh as the squawk of magpies.

The pretty nurse burst in through a set of double doors from the opposite corner of the room, several attendants in tow. They managed to subdue the heated debate, administer injections, and lead the inmates away before they could start hitting each other.

"This was your last chance," the nurse said as one man was assisted out of the room. "Double injections tonight." She followed him and the attendants to the double doors, stopped to pat the young man with long dark hair on his shoulder and whisper something in his ear before she left. Natasha heard the clank as a heavy bolt was snapped into place.  _No easy access to that hallway._  The fact was filed away for later when she really began to plan out her next series of moves.

The kid still voiced the lines from the cartoon. No one acknowledged her as she edged forward. She wanted to stay anonymous as she assessed the other inmates, to see if there was any helpful source within the patients.

Natasha found an old Time magazine with Fidel Castro on the cover and brought it to the duct-taped sofa. The woman already seated there, her arms clutched around bare knees, looked up when the agent sat next to her.

The copy of Time nearly dropped from Natasha's hands. She took a deep breath, fought to remain calm. The woman on the sofa was Maria Hill, but her calm air of capability was gone. Natasha had never seen her without her clipboard, a ready answer for any question, a look of complete dedication to SHIELD in her face.

Now her hair was chopped short on one side in a ragged fringe, and she stared at Natasha as thought they had never seen each other before. Her eyes and nose were reddened as though she had spent some time crying, and her lower jaw trembled.

"Maria?" Natasha whispered.

No movement. A long line of drool fell from the woman's mouth to dribble on her hospital gown.

_Fuck._  Natasha's mind raced, although she preserved her blank look in case the nurse or the attendant returned. Something was terribly wrong inside the asylum – but it perhaps wasn't an asylum at all. She suspected the place was actually some kind of holding pen, maybe a horror shop of torture and experimentation.

Who had taken her former boss inside? Was that why the Black Widow had been sent in – to try and rescue Maria Hill from whatever had gone down?

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._  Not only would she have to get herself out, now she was responsible for Maria as well.

There had to be a contact somewhere. Natasha thought later she would try to use a different line on one of the attendants, perhaps the curly-haired one pushing the mop. If she tried again with the gum on the shoe and 42nd Street, it would raise suspicion. "Stay here," she whispered with a hand on Hill's arm, but the woman shook it off before hiding her face in her knees once more.

Natasha counted to one hundred before she put down the magazine and returned to the hall. There was no sign of the muscular attendant with the mop and the dirty bucket; she checked inside the rooms and found no one other than the same inmates as before.

One bedside table in an empty chamber held a bar of soap; Natasha quickly stole it and stashed it in her underwear. One goal accomplished, at any rate; during dinner or after light's out she would find a way to scrub the foul toilet and sink until her space was habitable.

She heard a low murmur of conversation followed by a burst of female laughter; the exchange seemed to indicate workers instead of inmates and came from the day room. Hoping cameras weren't watching her zig-zag progress throughout the place (later she would have to find the one in her room and take it down) she sidled back to dayroom and the couches, the kid in front of the TV, and Maria.

The nurse with the ponytail had returned to stand beside the man with dark hair. Although he wore a hospital gown and was definitely an inmate she seemed to enjoy his conversation – she laughed as he said something in a low voice and bent close to respond, smiling into his face.

It was the third time the pretty nurse and the patient with the black hair had spoken together. If he was rational enough to chat with the nurse – the most visible authority figure thus far - it meant he was someone Natasha had to get to know, win to her side. She picked up the copy of Time, pretended to leaf through it, and waited until the nurse left again through the double doors.

Natasha worked her way over to the corner where the man sat. She stopped in front of the TV and watched a few minutes of Adventure Time before trailing on to the windows to look outside; the place seemed to be situated in the middle of a huge forest. That was a surprise – usually institutions were at the edge of suburbia or the dreary outskirts of large cities.

Only then did she allow herself to approach the man in the chair. He still sat upright; his shoulders presented the aspect of someone who was entirely at his ease.

Natasha pretended to examine the wall before she looked at his profile. When she did she nearly screamed. She had to dig her nails in her palms to stop herself from running to the double doors to pound on them and demand rescue.

It was him. The last time they had seen each other he was muzzled and chained, about to return to another realm in disgrace. Before that there had been several inches of glass between them – the single incident when they actually spoke together.

Loki turned and saw her near the wall; a flicker of surprise crossed his face before he smiled. Deep dimples appeared in his cheeks; he seemed to greet her presence as a delightful surprise.

No emotions. Natasha had learned decades ago to repress any feeling, and those fierce lessons in the Red Room helped her keep a mask in place when she was on a case. Despite her training the fact exploded in her brain. She was locked inside a strange asylum with the fiercest villain she had ever gone up against, and she felt fear trickle through her chest like ice cracking a windshield with severe frost.

"Hello, Agent Romanov," Loki said. "How interesting to find you here."


	2. Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - Thanks so much for the immediate reviews on the first chapter - many hugs and Loki kisses to you all.
> 
> The name of Dr. Holmes comes from the Murder Castle case in Chicago. And if you want to read some freaky stuff, check out the history of that place - it's fascinating.

 

**" _Lithium metal is soft enough to be cut with a knife."_**

* * *

Natasha knew she had to present an air of calm detachment. Her nails dug into the tendons of her palms; the pain kept her centered. "Hello, Loki," she replied in an even tone seeming to come from far away. "I thought you were thrown in a dungeon on Asgard to rot."

"No longer." He seemed to measure her up with one flick of his eyes. "Now it is my honor to hold the throne."

His dimples deepened as he watched her process that information. Natasha's mind raced; how could she use her former enemy? Perhaps the more likely question was: How could she come out of this alive, and was rescuing Hill even an option at that point if such a dangerous villain was in charge of his world?

And had she been put inside the strange hospital at the whim of the demigod with the charming smile? If so, was his intention to play with her like a complicated doll before he killed her and returned to Asgard?

She decided the best thing to do was to play along with him, especially if the asylum and their shared incarceration was his game so she could discover some of the answers. And if what he said was true, she had a lot on her hands.  _King of Asgard – ruler of the nine realms._  "Amazing," she marveled. "How did that happen, may I ask?"

"You may ask." His tone told her there would be no response.

"What do I call you now – Highness? Majesty?" Natasha hoped the change of tactic would win her a revelation.

The question raised a soft laugh. "The correct title is All-Father, but it seems overbearing in our case. I'm not certain Father is the way I want you to address me…"

Natasha pricked up her ears. Any hint of an 'in' was something to consider. "So?" she asked, allowing her voice to become husky. "How would you like me to address you, Loki?"

"Agent – please stop. You are wearing the most ridiculous garment I have ever seen, and in any case I am already being entertained by Rebecca." Loki hooded his eyes, folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. He seemed utterly at his ease although he wore the same 'ridiculous garment' she did.

"Rebecca – she's the nurse? The pretty one with dark eyes?" Natasha felt a jolt of relief; at least she could be spared the indignity of a seduction.

"Of course."

"Of course," Natasha repeated. She found a chair and sat in it, keeping a good amount of space between them. "Hey, knock yourself out with your little relationship. However, I would think the ruler of the nine realms would prefer to return to the golden throne instead of a folding chair – but maybe there's more to this situation than I thought. In any case, do you know how you appeared here in the first place?"

A tiny frown came and went between Loki's dark brows. "No, I do not. I awoke in a room and was administered some sort of medicine."

Excellent. She  _had_  extracted some sort of information. And if anyone would want to escape the asylum, Natasha surmised, it would be him; Loki would want to return to his throne, his palace, and whatever else went along with being king of the universe.

"The same happened to me," Natasha admitted. She hoped to formulate a feeling of kinship between them. "I was given an injection as well – and I want to find out what it is and why we're here."

He leaned a bit closer, interest leaping into his eyes. "And do you think you can do that?"

Natasha merely stared back at him. "You've seen me in action before," she said at last.

"Yes, I have." Loki stretched out one hand and touched the hem of her hospital gown. "I must admit to you of all those I met on Midgard you alone won a small measure of my respect."

_Respect_  – she could work with that. "This is a very interesting situation, don't you think?" she asked. "We have no one to talk to other than an enemy."

"I have more than that," Loki reminded her gently. "By my calculations Rebecca will yield to me in two days. At that point it will be nothing more than a few simple steps to gain my release, and you will be left behind with these poor souls."

It certainly  _sounded_  as though he were speaking the truth. If he was (and she certainly wouldn't wager on it) the situation was not mere entertainment devised by a ruler bored of sitting on a golden throne in Asgard; no, it was something deeper - darker - engineered by an outside force. So what was it? Why was she inside an asylum with no one except Loki to talk to?

Natasha spread her hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Good luck with that, but I maintain I'll win my release before you can."

It wasn't her imagination – a flame kindled in his eyes as he edged closer. Loki stroked her hem again with his thumb and allowed it to brush her knee. "Ah, now _that_  does interest me. Shall we hazard a bet?"

"Sounds like a child's game." Natasha crossed her legs, removing them from his touch. "I don't have time for such nonsense."

"What else do you have on your agenda – reading more back copies of magazines about news that has already expired?" Loki rose and strolled to the window; he gestured for her to follow. When she joined him at the wired glass he pointed towards the orange smudge of the setting sun. "Five hundred furlongs hence in that direction there lies a safe house," he murmured so quietly she could barely hear him. "The first one of us who reaches it may make a request, and the other must grant it. Do you agree to the wager?"

Natasha peered into the thick forest surrounding them; there were no roofs nor even a thread of smoke to indicate any sort of civilization. A safe house – it was invaluable information. In ten minutes he had granted her the second half of a plan; all she had to do now was formulate the first. Openly she studied his profile – the strong nose, delicate cheekbones, firm mouth, black hair startling against such pale skin.

Loki faced her to stare directly into her eyes. "Well? Do you agree?"

"Any request at all?"

He nodded.

"I accept." As soon as she won the bet, Natasha mused, she could use the win to SHIELD's advantage and secure the world's safety against any of Loki's future plans. Anything he had planned for Midgard or, for that matter, any realm was certain to be horrific.

His gaze didn't waver. "Perhaps I was wrong about the garment. You wear it with style." Loki allowed his neck to bend as though he were about to embrace her.

"All-Father, please stop." She couldn't help echoing his words, twisting them to her advantage. Instantly he caught the reference and grinned.

There was a click from the double doors, making Natasha peer through her hair to see who it was. Rebecca stepped through, her pretty face dark with annoyance. "Ms Rushman?" The nurse's voice was short, clipped, and her anger was audible across the round day room.

Natasha strolled away from Loki, brushing one fingertip against the windowsills as though the encounter between them had been completely accidental. "Yes?"

"Time for your therapy with Dr. Holmes." The nurse grasped her arm in a tight grip and piloted her to the double doors, pausing to give Loki a meaningful look.  _He has already caught her,_  Natasha thought. She would have to speed up her plans if she wanted to win that bet.

* * *

Therapy was inside a small room with chipped wooden furniture and a large desk; a metal filing cabinet with one empty drawer left open and boxes of files on top lurked in one corner. A tall man sat behind the desk, scrawling notes on a long, yellow pad; his eyes mirrored the defeated downward droop of his luxuriant mustache. Natasha instantly surmised he was a man disappointed by life; she got the sense he would try to reshape the world as he knew it.

When Rebecca opened the door, Dr. Holmes gestured for her to come in. "Welcome, Ms Rushman, to our little home away from home. I trust you are feeling well today, eh? What do you think of the facility thus far?"

Natasha took a seat in one of the chipped chairs. She nodded in response, already deciding her first strategy would be to talk as little as possible and allow him to give himself away as a result.

"You like your room, I hope," he added. Natasha didn't reply, even when he began to barrage her with questions.  _Did she dream at night? Was she happy? Did she remember her parents? What were her fears?_  Throughout, she kept her eyes on him and an impassive look on her face.

While she listened, unmoving and silent, Dr. Holmes's eyes and mustache seemed to droop even further. At last he sighed, heaved himself out of his chair, and opened the door of the untidy office. "Rebecca! Bring me another injection."

Natasha made a mental note. The doctor was controlling people with medication – her at least and probably everyone else in the asylum. Perhaps it was the key to the place and to the entire situation. As he grasped the frame of the door to shout again with mounting anger, she took a quick peek at the notes on his legal pad.

" _The face appears in the blades of the fan. As they swing faster, it becomes clearer."_

" _I wake with scarlet blood on my hands and no memory of how it got there. Always I have to clean up the mess."_

Rebecca entered with another tray and a huff of fury. "I was in the middle of seeing patients," she muttered.

"I'm more important," the doctor snipped.

Natasha dropped her eyes to her lap. A power struggle between the two was incredible luck; there were at least fifteen ways she could use that in her plans.  _Or,_  she couldn't help thinking,  _it's really bad news. If they don't watch what they say in front of me, they think they have some kind of control over all of us. The patients are nothing but props._

Dr. Holmes seized the hypodermic and stabbed it into Natasha's shoulder without bothering to swipe her skin first; as he depressed the plunger she felt a sort of fuzziness at the back of her brain. Her bioengineering took over quickly to neutralize it, but it was the first time she had been affected by medication since the Red Room; the sensation was immediately noticeable, which made her take notice. Whatever liquid swirled in her veins from the hypodermic had to be very strong.

"What did you just give me?" she demanded.

"Lithium – nothing to worry about. Scientists think it could be the key to enhancing lifespan and fighting mental and physical disease. Now." Dr. Holmes sat back and steepled his fingers; he probably thought he displayed the very picture of a thorough professional. "Tell me about yourself or you will receive another injection."

Natasha experienced a slight curl of fear. She had the idea the notes on the pad were written by the doctor about himself, not about any patient. If so, he was the least sane individual inside the asylum.

"My parents died when I was young," she said, launching into the backstory she had written for Natalie Rushman years ago. She knew it by heart; as she recited it she heard the scratching of the doctor's pen. While the words poured out she let her mind order a series of steps she would need to take in order to rescue Maria Hill, bring down the insane Dr. Holmes, get outside, and make it to the safe house before Loki got there.

Throughout her performance the panic she felt increased. The asylum was hardly legit. The doctor himself was extremely strange. Her most rational conversation thus far had been with a black villain who seemed to enjoy turning humans into meat puppets and carving out eyeballs with a high-tech melon scoop.

Worst of all, if those injections continued to affect her, how long could she count on her own sanity?


	3. Information

**_In rare occasions, lithium can cause hallucinations._ **

* * *

The muscled attendant with the chestnut curls brought breakfast into her room: gray oatmeal and an orange. Natasha's mouth watered at the sight of the fruit, but she didn't allow herself to eat it. Instead she hid it under her mattress while she shoveled the porridge into her mouth; once the attendant returned to collect the tray she had eaten the entire contents of the bowl.

She had learned long ago food had to be eaten as soon as you got it in captivity.  _Whether they serve you chicken feet or bugs, Romanov, close your eyes and eat up._ That attitude had gotten her through many bouts of imprisonment.

"Wow, you ate that shit.  _No one_  eats that shit." The attendant checked her tray, sniffed the bowl. "You didn't pour it down the toilet, did you? It stops up the plumbing for the whole floor if you do that."

"No." Natasha wanted him out of the room so she could start putting some of her plans in motion.

"Say, did you bleed when they gave you the injections? I saw one girl bleed all over the place." The man emitted an inappropriate amount of laughter; she felt a thread of disgust curl up her spine.

"No," she repeated.

"You won't get the room service every day, you know." His face turned surly.

"That's fine – I don't mind fetching my own food."

With a gust of relief she watched the attendant head to the door. He opened it with his hip, winked at her, and left at last.

Natasha got off the bed to retrieve the orange and the soap she had stolen. In the stinking bathroom she used one of the extra pairs of underwear from her drawer as a rag to scrub the toilet, the floor, and the tiny sink. She pulled the orange apart with her nails and used it as an air freshener; once she had scrubbed the floor a second time with the peel and rinsed it the room smelled almost fresh.

That done, Natasha filled the sink and stripped off her hospital clothes. She soaped every inch of her body before dunking her head in the cold water to wash her hair with the other half of the orange squeezed over her curls.

There was no towel; Natasha used the extra pair of drawstring pants to dry off. She had spent several hours after lights' out altering her spare hospital gown to tie up the back and under her breasts more tightly. She didn't have much to work with, but in the dull dayroom among the faded patients she knew she would shine like a star.

A pair of Velcro tabbed sneakers and flip flops were lined up underneath the tiny bed on the chipped tiles of the floor. Natasha pushed her feet into the sandals - the more skin she could reveal, the better.

* * *

Maria drooped on the couch with a splotch of oatmeal on one cheek. Natasha wiped her off, felt for Hill's inner arm to inspect it and found a series of telltale pricks leading up the flesh like a perverted dot-to-dot. "Can you hear me?" she whispered into the woman's ear without much hope. Maria simply stared at a point no one could see; her hand hung in mid air when the inspection was over.

The same ancient Time magazine lay on the table with Fidel Castro staring off into the distance under his signature cap. Natasha picked it up and, when Carl came past, she gave him her brightest smile and asked for something to write with. "Can't have no pencils or pens," the man responded, eyeing her breasts under the modified hospital gown.

She smiled. "Is there any chance you can bring me something without a point? Please?" He grunted, looked her over once more, and moved off.

The cushion next to hers squeaked as Loki sat down beside her. "What was that little performance all about?" he demanded.

"That's rich, coming from the king of the performing arts himself. Did Rebecca come through for you last night? Or should I say – did you come through for her?"

"It needles you, does it not?" His smile was reflected in his eyes; they sparkled as though he and she were chatting at a bar in an enjoyable conversation tinged with flirtation.

"Not at all. I wish you every success, and I hope you will do the same for me."

He inclined his head. "Of course."

"Actually, I wanted to give you some information."

The smile disappeared. "Why?" The question was direct, firm, immediate – the metaphorical pounce of a lethal tiger with bared claws.

"You gave me some useful knowledge yesterday about the safe house in the woods. I thought I would pay you back for it."

Loki flicked his glance over her. "Are we to be partners? I do not work in pairs, Agent."

"No, not at all. However, at the moment the only person – and I use the term ironically – I can relate to is you. I would guess it's the same in your case, although you do have your pet – but of course you need to present a certain front when you are with her, no?"

He edged nearer and the smile hovered at one corner of his mouth. "Gods," he whispered, "you and I are alike after all. I did not realize how much – but I will not make that mistake again. And you smell divine, Agent."

"I smell clean, and in this atmosphere that is a rarity." Natasha leaned away from him. "Do you want the information or not? I won't offer it again."

"Oh, I do."

"Be careful of the injections – they are altered in some way to be more powerful than any on the legitimate market. I'm immune to medication, but…"

Disappointment swirled in his eyes before Loki began to laugh. "Medication is the last thing I need to worry about - I am a god. These Midgardian potions have no effect on me."

"You know best, of course," Natasha continued. "I'm bioengineered to resist them as well – I'm sure you know all about that already from your temporary jaunt inside Clint's mind – but despite my medical history I felt something yesterday when the doctor gave me an extra round of meds. Just wanted to let you know."

"Thank you for that advice, as useless as the injections themselves. You still owe me information, by the by, or at least some sort of payback."

He edged closer again, and Natasha rose smoothly from her seat. "I've been timing your girlfriend's visits to the ward. She arrives at 45-minute intervals and the next should occur any moment. Since she holds all the power in this place for now I prefer to keep my distance from you and stay in her good books – your Rebecca doesn't seem to enjoy seeing our little chats."

Loki opened his mouth to retort, but she went to stand next to the kid in front of the TV. It was with a surge of triumph she saw the double doors open and Rebecca walk into the dayroom; as the nurse paraded around the space and found her way to Loki's side, Natasha caught his eye.

He was surprised by her impeccable timing, she knew that much. Even inside that hideous, stinking, degrading place, she had won his respect for the second time.

Whether it was a good thing or not remained to be seen.

* * *

"I love the space you've created," Natasha gushed. After the last session with Dr. Holmes, she decided the best way to survive was to get in his good graces, to become the sillier version of Natalie Rushman. "It's so calm – so peaceful – I feel I can get well at last when I'm here, doctor."

He sat in the same position, his hands steepled in front of him. At her words he pushed out his bottom lip in a considering attitude and munched his mustache. "I'm glad to hear it."

"I really mean it! However did you come up with the design?"

It was a stab in the dark, and it seemed to pay off. A spark kindled in the doctor's eyes. "I'm the only one who knows the full layout. When it was being built I changed architects and construction companies several times to make certain I was the sole person with the plan…"

His voice tailed off. Natasha sat forward eagerly to distract him. "What a great idea! It takes real intelligence to come up with something like that. By the way," she added hastily, "last night I dreamt I was fighting a version of myself – a dope ganger."

"A doppelganger," he corrected her.

"Oh, is that the word? I'm such an ditz!" Natasha giggled and flapped one hand in front of her face.

"I suppose you won the fight," he commented.

She laughed much harder and longer than the joke warranted. Pretending to catch her breath, she bit her bottom lip and watched him under her eyelashes; the idiot had no idea he had just given so much away. "I think that's my life, you know? Always fighting my urges? And trying to suppress my better half? When it should be the other way around?"

As she babbled on, Natasha turned over what he told her in the back of her mind. So the man  _had_ created the hospital, and it was built to some mysterious specification. That meant there was a reason for the injections, and if her ideas were correct she had to act right away if she wanted to save Maria Hill's life. The one question she couldn't answer was  _What did Loki have to do with it, and why was the god in there with her?_

"Do you ever feel like that, Dr. Holmes?" she concluded, tilting her head as though she begged for his advice.

Unconsciously he mirrored the tilt. "Perhaps, when I was much, much younger. I think you have frozen during the maturing process, and we just have to unlock that…" The psychobabble continued, and Natasha tuned him out, nodding at intervals while continuing the aspect of breathless interest. She considered and discarded a plan to seduce him – he was too obsessive, too involved with his design and what probably was a grand plan to release any information with that method. It would needlessly endanger her, and she wanted to keep as safe as possible within that gray atmosphere.

A squawk came from a box on his desk – so his "design" didn't include a modern system of communication. "What is it, Annika?" he asked, pressing the button on the device.

The answer was unintelligible. "Forgive me." He stood and walked to the door. "I'll be right back."

As soon as he left she stood up to search his files but sank back in the padded seat when the door opened again. A tall man entered wearing a delivery worker's dark blue jumpsuit and matching hat pulled over long, blond hair; he stopped dead when he saw her.

Natasha looked up and felt relief pour through her veins. "Thor. Wow, you just made my day."

She was inordinately glad to see him; he was the first truly good person she had encountered since her mysterious arrival at the hospital; besides, she had missed him. They hadn't spoken since his return to Midgard.

Not only that, Thor was a connection with the outside and SHIELD; just seeing his ready smile made her feel normal for a few seconds. However, she knew they didn't have long.

"Thank the Norns, the information from Lord Stark was correct." He was carrying a box and the kind of clipboard used by UPS drivers; he put it down to clap one hand to Natasha's shoulder.

She covered his large hand with her own. "So this  _is_  a SHIELD op. Good to know."

"The doctor man will return soon so I cannot fill you in completely at this moment," he replied. "However, I can give us a little more time." Thor moved away and wedged himself in front of the door; his height and broad shoulders completely covered the wired window set into it. "Natasha, have you seen the Lady Maria?"

"Yes, and it's vital you get her out at once. I have the feeling she won't last long here."

His keen glance softened. "I can only take one prisoner out at a time. If I bring her it will raise suspicions here, and security might tighten…"

He was interrupted by a series of annoyed raps on the other side of the door. Natasha waved his concerns off hurriedly. "Right, right. I'll take care of all that. Just get Maria back to HQ as soon as you can – you would make things a lot easier for me if you can rescue her."

Thor nodded. "I shall begin the quest straight away. Now I must leave, but it was good to see you."

The knocks increased in volume, but she had to ask him one last question. "Did you know your brother was here as well?"

Thor froze, and a look of horror followed by sorrowful pity suffused his open, honest face. "Natasha," he said gently, "that is impossible. My brother no longer lives - Loki died in my arms as we battled Malekith together in Asgard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - Thanks again to my readers, reviewers and followers. You make my life magical.


	4. Message

_When placed over a flame, lithium compounds give off a striking crimson color._

* * *

Her first thought was to run to Loki and demand an explanation for his supposed death, but Natasha had learned to weigh all consequences before acting. If Loki discovered she knew Thor had no idea his brother was alive, what would that strange demigod's reaction be? He was unpredictable at the best of times, and in an asylum, facing his former enemy who discovered something very private... the result could be catastrophic.

Obviously the entire situation on Asgard was a secret. Loki told her he was the current ruler of all nine realms, and Natasha knew when power and thrones were involved secrets became valuable commodities. Her life could be held ransom to his ambitions and mysterious desires if she fled to him with her latest bit of information.

And there was something else holding her back. Of all the Avengers, Thor had the least complicated psyche. He was simple, strong, and utterly sane. The others were all damaged in some way – even Steve Rogers bore the same biomechanics as her, the Black Widow. He had been transmuted to a new century, like lead turning to gold, without the benefit of watching time pass; the Captain awoke to news of dead friends, new tech, and a complete shift of moral understanding. Clint and Tony both had childhood issues. Bruce had cut himself off from the world of relationships. Only Thor seemed completely 'normal' - if such a thing existed in her world at all.

Therefore if Thor looked at her with pity as though he thought she were seeing things when she mentioned his brother,  _was there a chance she had dreamed up the presence of Loki within the hospital?_

Lithium was a safe drug according to all she had read, but the injections they received in the facility were enhanced. She felt it with every keen detecting sense in her body. It was just possible she was experiencing hallucinations and had dreamed up the interactions between her and Loki; that thought made her bones melt with fear.

Natasha paced in her room. She returned there as a last refuge after the session with Dr. Holmes in order to try and make some sense of what had just occurred. It was simple, she told herself – she was wrong or Thor was wrong. Either choice, given their current setting, was bad.

Her conclusion was to keep quiet and wait.

* * *

The attendant poked his head in her room and held up a small purple stick between his thumb and one thick forefinger. "What is that?" Natasha asked, in the middle of mentally listing contingencies and back-up plans.

"Crayon." He shrugged. "Take it or leave it – it's all I could get for you. If it had a point you could stick it in a vein or under your skin. There would be blood. Probably a lot of blood. One dude used a pen in his neck and bled out on the mattress."

She held out her hand and thanked him. The crayon was stubby, the paper surrounding it long gone. Still, it was invaluable – now she could write messages, draw out diagrams, get some real work done.

* * *

"Why did that servant come inside your room?" Wearing a dark scowl, Loki burst through the door as soon as the attendant left.

Smoothly she pushed the crayon under her pillow while she pretended to stretch. "You have your plans – I have mine."

"Why did you not come outside to the round place after your appointment with the doctor - the one with the ugly mustache and few wits? I wanted to talk to you."

"And I wanted a little privacy as well as some time to think."

He shook his head. "No. That leaves me with no one for conversation. I cannot stand there and chat with the television man."

Natasha felt her face register amusement. "No, I don't suppose you can."

"So you do have feelings!" Loki dimpled in one of his ready grins, and he stepped forward abruptly to brush her hair back from her face. "I always thought of you as cold and without emotion."

A number of sarcastic retorts came to mind –  _Why, because I never attacked New York? Because I didn't pluck out a living man's eyeball? Because I failed to stab my brother in the gut?_

However, she didn't want to antagonize him - at least, not yet. Plus she wanted to make certain Loki was real. He certainly  _seemed_  real – any hallucinations she experienced in the past came with sickness, chills or fever, and a feeling of tilting away from the true world.  _Who is right?_  she wondered again.  _Me or Thor?_

"Hold out your arm," she ordered.

Strangely, he did as she asked without hesitation. Natasha hopped off the bed and felt his skin, bared with the short sleeves of the hospital gown and cool to her touch, softer than she had expected with corded muscles sliding underneath the smooth flesh. There was no questioning the reality of Loki, looming over her and smiling down from his dark height. She found herself wondering exactly what had happened in Asgard between the brothers.

"What are you doing?" Loki asked in a quiet voice.

She dropped her hands from his bicep, stepped back. "Just wanted to see something. You can go now."

Loki shook his head. "No, I do not want to.Your room smells nicer than any other place in this hospital."

"I took the time to scrub it – actually, now that I think of it, have you won any privileges from Rebecca yet? Can you use her to get me some soap?"

His hairline moved as though he were thinking it over. "Yes, but you will owe me two things if I procure it for you. One for the information and one for the soap."

"Okay." Natasha inclined her head in acknowledgement. "How did you arrive here? Did you wake up inside, or were you somehow overpowered and brought in …"

He laughed at that. "Nothing can overpower me. No, I came here as you did – in my sleep and with no memory of how it came to be."

"Right." She frowned. "And since you're still here, I'd imagine your magic doesn't work inside the facility for some reason."

"Of course not, or I would be gone. Or," he dropped his voice and sidled closer, "perhaps I do not want to leave just yet. Maybe I am enjoying my time."

"Better than the throne of Asgard? I find that hard to believe, especially after I saw you in action trying to win my realm and rule over it as yours." Natasha drummed her fingers against her thigh and peered up at the single tiny window in her room, set too far up on the wall to view. "Do you think you could lift me up to look out?"

Instantly he bounded onto her bed, beckoned with one palm and, when she climbed up beside him, spread his long fingers on her thighs to hoist her up so she could peer out of the smeared pane - dusty and speckled in the corners with insects. There was nothing to be seen outside except more forest, stretching out in every possible direction for miles. Snow was coming - the sky head a looming, threatening aspect that made Natasha wish she could be among the trees to smell the crisp air.

"Okay, I'm coming back down." Natasha jumped off the mattress and thrust her feet back into her flip-flops. "Well, that was useless."

"I enjoyed it." Loki's grin spread like untamed water after a hurricane.

Studiously she ignored that comment. "What time is it? I really don't want to be caught in here with you - Rebecca would order me three injections the instant she found out."

"Perhaps, but I would have had my fun."

"But tomorrow you'd have no one to talk to, since I'd be drooling on the sofa like Maria Hill." Natasha cursed as soon as she spoke – she hadn't meant to give that away.

"Do you know her?" Loki's eyes glinted. "Of course – she is the female who fired at me on the Helicarrier transport device. I suppose she looked so different here I missed it… But you still owe me two debts. That was a mistake on your part, not a gift."

"Semantics," Natasha muttered.

He shook his head. "No, this changes nothing. However, I take your point. I want to talk to  _you_ , not a living corpse. And on that thought, we have at least ten minutes by my calculations before I must go and pleasure the nurse." He sat on her mattress and patted it. "Come and sit next to me. I do not bite."

Natasha ignored him and crossed her arms. "No one can overpower you, according to what you just said. So in your opinion, how did you arrive? I should think your being here would shorten the list of suspects considerably."

"This may come as a shock," Loki said with a wink, "but there are many who would like to get hold of me for vengeance."

"Shocker, riiiight." She stared at him for a moment, unblinking, before adding, "And do all of those enemies know you sit on the throne?"

A shade swam across his vision, and the Black Widow allowed herself a mental pat on the back. In that one moment she had the entire situation in the realm of Asgard figured out:  _nobody_  knew he was the current ruler. Loki had used some sort of magic to fake his death and subsequent resurrection to usurp the position of All-Father. And she was the only one in the Nine Realms who knew it, other than the god sitting on her bed with a sulky look on his face.

"It is time for me to go and meet my girlfriend," Loki announced coldly. He pushed away from the mattress, crossed the room with two strides, and left without a backwards glance at her.

Natasha counted to fifty before going to the bathroom and closing the door. There she jiggled her shoulders and butt in a victory dance, chanting under her breath:  _I'm a bad-ass, a big bad-ass, the biggest baddest motherfucker of them all._

* * *

The back issue of Time had enough usable space in the margins and back cover to allow for a write-up of her ideas in a code she had devised years ago. She also included a preliminary sketch of the grounds and hospital building. On the ever-present subscription card she added a to-do list. Priority number one was making things as easy as possible for Thor when he came for Maria. As soon as she finished her self-assigned homework she stashed everything in a loose tile in the ceiling of the bathroom.

After removing her flip-flops she padded barefoot to Maria's room. Naturally it was vacant, since the inhabitant sat motionless on the duct-taped couch at that very moment.

Inside the dreary, stinking chamber Natasha searched for cameras, found two, and shifted them so they portrayed a continuous feed of stained wall and a spider web in one far corner. There were no personal items, but she bagged some of Hill's extra panties to send with her.

The Time magazine was stapled together – proof that those running the hospital were rookies. Natasha had already removed one staple and stashed it in her hospital gown; she bent it carefully and inserted it into the lock of Maria's door so it would appear to close during lockdown but could be opened from the outside with a mere shove. Thor's strength would take care of it easily, and there would be much less noise as a result.

Finally she returned to the dayroom, her first few tasks for the day complete. The kid sang Marceline's song in front of the TV. Loki's chair was empty. Carl yawned in one corner; she waved at him and gave him a bright smile.

Maria sat on the couch with her knees up, listing sideways. Natasha cautiously approached her and put one arm along the back of the sofa. Again she counted, this time to five hundred. When no one in the dayroom moved beyond the attendant rubbing his eyes and shaking his head with exhaustion, she slipped the bag with underwear into Maria's hand. "Hold onto this when you go to bed," she whispered. "Can you remember?"

Hill raised her head and looked blearily into the Black Widow's face. "Organs," she said in a voice husky from disuse. "Stairways to nowhere. Black market. Rooms with no doors. Bodies are commodities. Gas chamber. Bones."

"Okay," Natasha soothed her. "It's okay. I'm on it." She rubbed Maria's back, hoping Hill wouldn't go into freak out mode. At the same time she dropped a folded square with a few words written in purple crayon into the waistband of the woman's pants and prayed no one would find it at lights' out before Thor returned for the rescue op.


	5. Imagination

_Lithium, as well as its isotopes, was one of the three elements synthesized in the Big Bang._

* * *

Dinner was a square of gray meat, rubbery potatoes, and a pile of green mush. There was a small carton of apple juice with the food on the tray; Natasha filched the box and hid it in her waistband. She could wash her hair with it in the morning and save her orange.

Meals had actually been worse in various jails where she had gone undercover. The Black Widow chewed her way through the meat, forcing her mind onto pleasant memories to ignore the taste: Clint's smile. The time Steve took her to dinner and taught her how to swingdance at a club afterwards. Pepper's look of admiration at the impeccable job Natalie Rushman did for Stark Industries. Her newest gun, a Glock G19 adapted by Tony to hold more than 15 rounds as well as several drop-in options for her specialized needs. A solitary walk in the snow during a mission in Manchester when she discovered lily-of-the-valley blossoms beside a heated fountain.

Loki returned to the common room by the time she swallowed the last of the meal. The trays were served on folding tables; Rebecca fussed over him and gave him a plate heaped with very different fare from those served to the rest of the patients. Natasha could just see the mound of a white roll and steaming mashed potatoes glazed with butter.

She watched under her eyelashes as the nurse whispered something to him – an apology, perhaps. Then she produced the needle, tested it, and plunged it into his arm; Loki never moved as he received the injection.

Natasha swore under her breath. The last thing she needed was him to have a bad reaction to the lithium as well as all the other shit she had to clean up. Luckily, Loki's current affair would lower the number of doses he was given – or so she hoped.

Rebecca wandered around the room, wielding her hypodermics like weapons. When she reached Natasha's side, the nurse knelt, produced a new needle, and pushed the lithium into the agent's vein. Withdrawing the needle, she whispered, "Leave him alone."

Natasha made her eyes go round, blank, filled with innocence. "I'm sorry?"

"The man over there. Loco. Leave him alone, or you'll get double dosed." Rebecca waved the hypo as punctuation.

" _Loco?_  That's his name?" Natasha smothered a hoot of disbelief. She wanted to warn the nurse whom she was dealing with and advise her to read his file. Most of all she wanted to ask Rebecca if she ever signed a code of ethics since the woman was breaking a few dozen rules, at least.

The nurse stared back at her with wide, brown eyes. There was a moment of uncertain hesitation before she dug in the pocket of her uniform, pulled out another dose, and removed the cap. "You asked for it. Enjoy."

Before she could protest that she hadn't said a word, Natasha felt the cold liquid hit her system. The injection was followed by an almost imperceptible shift in her heart rate, breathing pattern, and what she dreaded most – the fuzzy feeling at the base of her skull.

Normal lithium worked by inhibiting manic surges of dopamine; she knew that. As the interruption cleared and her own bio-engineering took over, Natasha watched Rebecca walk away with a look of triumph. She saw Maria shudder as she was given her evening shot. And she saw Loki's eyes on hers as he mouthed something to her, but what it was she couldn't tell.

* * *

Sleep came quickly that night followed by lurid dreams of her past set in a younger century, a different millennium. Natasha wore an old-fashioned dress and a tiny hat perched on her curls; she could feel the slight bite of suspenders on her legs holding up seamed stockings as she walked arm-in-arm with a tall, dark man. He had on a gray suit and a fedora with a wide hatband.

"World's Fair programs!" a boy shouted, holding out a sheaf of pamphlets to them.

"We have to find a hotel first," her companion said. "Let's try this one." He disappeared into the dark maw of a large hotel, and Natasha was dragged inside after him.

" _No!"_

* * *

Her scream woke her. She shot up, one hand clutching in the dark to stop the man from going into the hotel. When she encountered the edge of a sleeve and cool flesh under her fingertips, Natasha gasped and jumped out of bed, twisting into an automatic position of defense.

"It is me, agent," Loki said in a weary tone. "Stand down – no need for attack."

"Jesus." Natasha raked her hair back and fell back against the bed. "I nearly choked you, do you realize? You might want to be careful when you sneak into someone's room.  _Especially_ mine."

"Do you really think you could choke me?" His voice was filled with curiosity.

She thrust her legs back under the blankets; it was chilly in the dark room. "Yup. It would take a bit of creativity, but I could do it. And, by the way, I say this as a mere statement of fact - not as a threat. Please don't order an extra injection for me as a result,  _Loco_."

There was an extended, dark silence. Natasha looked at the slice of moonlight coming in through the window; it was long after midnight. At any moment Thor could begin his rescue op, a fact she could exploit or hide from Loki. She had mere moments left to decide how to handle it – the god at her side couldn't have chosen a worse time for a nocturnal visit.

"The name is ridiculous, I agree. And I did not mean for you to have an extra injection," Loki said at last. "I tried to tell you as much when we were in the hideous dayroom. However, I will make certain you cannot tell anyone what you know about the throne of Asgard if you give me reason."

"You'll have Rebecca give me more injections? Turn me into a mindless wreck?" Natasha thought of Maria Hill – the epitome of intelligence and efficiency, now reduced to wetting herself on the duct-taped couch. She hoped with a surge of passion that Thor would be able to remove the agent easily and quickly with little fall-out. The steps she had taken earlier in Hill's room should make certain it would happen.

"Whatever it takes." His hand shot out and caught her throat, squeezing just enough to display his incredible strength. "You slipped a message into that woman's garments. Tell me, what did it say? Three words, written in purple. Were they 'Loki is here'?"

"How did you know about the message?" Natasha wrapped her fingers around his wrist, trying to loosen his grip so she could breathe more easily.

"There is a recording device inside the dayroom to monitor our movements. I assume you were unable to modify that one as you did the one in the Hill woman's chamber. What did it say? Was your message about me?  _Was it_?"

"Don't come back," Natasha wheezed.

He released her neck slightly. "What?"

She coughed and rubbed her collarbone. "It said 'Don't come back.' You've guessed by now I set up a rescue op for Maria since she wouldn't last much longer if I don't get her out. In fact, a SHIELD agent should be arriving any second now." The truth was out. For some reason her instincts advised her it was the right thing to tell him about it.

"You do not want them to return for you – why not?" Loki inched closer to her.

"If SHIELD did return, it would put the rest of us in jeopardy as well as the agent they sent. I imagine those who set up this place as well as the puppets who run it would rather blow us all up instead of being discovered. In any case I'll get out on my own –  _and_  win the little bet between us, I might add."

"But we must stop this!" Loki exploded off the bed. "As soon as they find the Hill female is gone, we will receive the resulting wrath of that insane doctor…"

Natasha ignored his exasperation. "I wouldn't go out there if I were you," she said casually. "Your brother is the one engineering the rescue."

Loki emitted a hissing string of curse words, none in a language she recognized; probably he was speaking Old Norse. She couldn't help a triumphant smirk at his shocked response, although she knew he could be right about Hill's absence and the future punishments resulting from it. "I wouldn't worry," she added. " _You_  won't get the worst of it, thanks to your pet nurse. The rest of us will just have to survive the extra injections somehow."

There was a soft sound as he slid his hands over his face, and he sat again on the bed in an exhausted, defeated way. "It is all so boring," he groaned. "She wants me to give her sweet words of love, long hours of pleasure again and again. Whenever I am in the middle of an entertaining line of thought or conversation with you, Agent, she slinks in – I swear it is becoming more often – and demands I follow her for kisses and an endless embrace. It is as though I am involved with a cobra, one that is dull-witted on top of it all."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, cut it out." Natasha was annoyed. "You devised your own torture, now you must put up with it - and let's be honest. You're receiving all sorts of favors and extras as a result. I saw what you had for dinner - actual carbs instead of gray mystery meat. Do you really expect my pity? Besides, she's nice to you, obviously, and pretty on top of it all. You've just got to deal."

"But I do not want to."

"Don't talk about being dull-witted if you're going to act that way." Natasha nudged Loki with her foot under the blankets. "Get everything you need from her and get your ass out of this place. You don't need me to tell you that." His complaints angered her, especially since she had already accomplished so much with nothing more than a magazine staple, one stubby purple crayon, and her own ingenuity. If she had a nurse panting after her for sex, she would already have left the damn hospital with Maria in tow and probably the Adventure Time dude as well.

"No, of course not. However, the situation truly is becoming intolerable," Loki growled.

Natasha folded her arms and cocked her head to one side, examining him where he sat. "I bet I know why you say that. It was probably fun for you at first – a challenge to see if you could get Rebecca to abandon her medical and moral codes while you seduced her. Once you did, it was all too easy and the whole thing became an ongoing chore instead of a diversion."

His hand slid across the sheets and folded over her ankle. "Exactly. Gods – it is as though you are inside my mind."

Natasha jerked her leg away from his touch. "Stop. I'd tell you to get out right now, but you'll need to stay until I hear Maria's door open. Once Thor leaves you've got to get back to your room."

"Very well." Slowly Loki stretched out until he lay next to her, his head pillowed on one hand, leaning on his elbow. By necessity they were pressed together in the tiny bed. "Then the message you wrote was for Thor. Why did you not tell him about my presence?" He whispered the words into her neck.

"I already told you why the very first time we spoke. Once upon a time I was Russian. Governments are replaced by other political regimes - and in the end, all of them are the same. You and your brother can work it out between yourselves in your own world - I have no interest in any of this."

His surprised response was interrupted by a dull pop from across the hall. Natasha moved closer so her cheek touched his and whispered, "Thor."

He nodded and froze, beside her in the shadows. For a long time they stayed thus; she knew he was picturing the scene, just as she was – his brother going into Maria's room, lifting the limp body, returning to the hall, carrying the agent out to an unknown escape route and leaving the strange hospital to a waiting SHIELD escape vehicle. Loki's breath feathered her hair, whistling quietly and rather more rapidly than she had expected on her skin.

Natasha's hands still framed Loki's face. "That was the first gift," she murmured when she was certain they were safe. "Now I only owe you one more."

"Yes, very well," he muttered.

"You'd better go." She sat up and gave him a push.

"Very well," he repeated. Still, he didn't move. "There is only one reason my affair with the nurse is bearable. Do you know what it is?"

The Black Widow felt an extended shiver run through her. Yes, she fancied she did, although she didn't want to say it out loud. If she spoke, that would make it too real.

Instead, she began to speak to head off a confession, babbling nonsense to try and change the subject. "I wouldn't worry about it. Soon you'll be gone, but of course I'll be the first one out of here so I can win our little bet, as I just told you. By the way, how did you know about that safe house anyway? Did you create it when you first came to our planet? Was it an Asgard way station here on Earth? Or did your nurse help you…"

Loki interrupted her flow of words with his firm tone. "When I lie with Rebecca in her room, I imagine I am with  _you_  instead."

Softly he rose, glided across the floor, and slipped out of the door.

Natasha was left alone in the dark.


	6. Shadows

_The required dosage is slightly less than the toxic level, requiring blood levels of lithium to be monitored closely during treatment._

* * *

Natasha stared up into the shadows, her arms crossed behind her head. Loki's revelation had forced her to picture things she didn't want to see - perhaps he was with the nurse at that very moment. And was he polite when Rebecca arrived to take him to her room, hiding his boredom as he kissed her and suckled her throat, pleasured her and thrust inside? And was he picturing Natasha underneath him as he did it? The mere thought, so forbidden and dangerous, made her shiver as though several bolts of electricity ran the wire frame of her mattress.

Or – and the concept came unbidden – was he playing both of them at the same time? Stringing along two victims with one simple 'confession'?

She turned with a sudden movement and squeezed her eyes shut. Once she got out and won the bet with Loki she would demand peace between their realms and an assurance of complete separation: no more interaction beyond Thor's travels. She was exhausted by the mere thought of dealing with the politics and personalities from Asgard. And when she returned to her small apartment, she would ask Steve to dinner again, beg him for another swingdance lesson. Clint could take her shopping for more weapons. Perhaps she and Pepper could become better friends.

And she would drink vodka, cold and sharp, and plenty of it.

* * *

Unseen rain splattered against the walls of the hospital when she woke again. The attendant was by her bed with a tray of breakfast – the usual oatmeal flanked with two oranges and a slice of toast. "Crap weather out," he remarked. "No sun. Easy to sleep in when there's no sun."

Natasha pointed at the extra food. "What's all this?"

"Rebecca R.N. is getting some nice attention. This is a shit job, y'know? Pays practically nothing. We gots to make up for it in other ways. She found her way." The man added a meaningful glance at Natasha's breasts. "Maybe I found mine, know 'mean?"

She stifled a sigh. He would have been goodlooking in another situation – padded with muscle and tall as a linebacker with tanned skin and those luxurious curls. His jutting lower lip and constant frown, however, promised a low I.Q. Picking up one of the oranges, she told herself she could work with that. "What's your name?"

"Carl." His smile was instant, just a shade too ready.

"Well, thank you, Carl."

"I aim to please. Gots to go right now, though. Probably someone took a spill, bled all over the hall. Or maybe there's a cutting case – red-stained mattress." He bent over, grabbed her right breast and squeezed before he exited her room; his whistle followed him into the hall.

"This sucks," Natasha muttered to herself. Yes, she could use him, but it made things messy. Her neat plan, almost ready to go into action, would now have to be expanded and rewritten. Plus, if she were honest with herself, Carl's preoccupation with blood creeped her out.

Her door opened again and Loki burst in with a green tab of industrial soap in his hand. His pale gaze flicked over her, still in bed with the square of toast in her hand. "What was  _he_  doing in here?"

Natasha waved the toast at him. "Bringing me my breakfast. Want a bite?"

Loki's nostrils flared as he approached, bit into the toast, and chewed. "He will want something in return."

"I can handle him." Natasha decided to pay Loki back for his little confession from the night before; she deliberately bit into the spot where his teeth left their mark in the bread. Holding his gaze, she licked the crumbs off her lip.

He caught his breath, frowned. "You do not understand." With a whipping motion too fast to follow, he seized her wrist and brought his face close to hers. "I do not  _want_  you to handle him."

A host of indignant replies came to mind, but she squashed them; having a god on her side could come in handy. "I don't mean actually  _handle_ , you know. I can make him feel as though he's special without …oh, never mind. Trust me, I'll take care of Carl. He's not too bright, which helps, but I'll get what I want in the end without giving up too much."

Loki glowered at her before taking another bite of her toast. "See that you do not. There is something unlikeable about that man – a feeling he would take what he desires without consideration."

"Really!" Natasha couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. "Imagine that. The nerve!"

She expected more glowering or another burst of bad temper as a response, but he surprised her with his charming smile. "You amuse me, agent, and very few things amuse me these days."

"Oh? Why is that?"

The smile disappeared. "Let us just say enough happened in my realm recently to change my outlook."

Natasha ate the last bite of toast and started to peel an orange. Her fingers worked quickly on the pitted skin, and the smell of citrus filled the dank air. Although the fruit was pale and pithy, she divided it into sections and offered him a piece. "You don't want to talk about that?"

He stared at her as he chewed the small segment of orange. "You said yourself you had no interest in the rise and fall of regimes."

"No, but the emotions and thoughts of a demigod I once fought do interest me. And," she added hastily as his eyes kindled, "especially when that guy becomes the one person I can talk to inside."

"Sleeping with the enemy?" Loki asked. At that her own amusement betrayed her; she felt her lips spread. He bared his white teeth in a renewed smile and felt for her ankle again, under the sheets.

"Get out." Natasha jerked her leg away from his touch. "I want to wash my hair."

Loki brushed his lips over her cheek, and she had to confess the feel of his mouth was pleasant – cool and firm, much nicer than Carl's broad-fingered boob grab. "I only go because I have to talk to the medical doctor man now, but I will return. Keep to yourself in the meantime, and do not touch the serving fellow who was in your room. He looks out of the corners of his eyes too much."

With a final wink he retreated.

"Fuck off," Natasha muttered as the door closed. She was tired of men bursting into her room and telling her what to do.

As for Loki and his sudden attentions, she had no illusions about the situation. He was bored and for the moment she made him laugh; in his mind, she probably represented a dangerous excitement.

Thanks to his self-imposed relationship with Rebecca, Natasha was now forbidden territory. She knew enough about him to sense his desire for danger, to ride the lightning; he wanted to straddle the line between adventure and chaos. For a short time Natasha had become a naughty promise, a hidden thrill in his eyes.

She shook her head and prepared to go and rinse her hair and body with half of the extra orange and the soap Loki had brought. Once she was clean she would fill in the time before her appointment with the 'medical doctor man' by honing her plans and making them foolproof. Since Thor had rescued Maria, the time had come to escape with as much information as Natasha could carry.

* * *

When Maria's disappearance was discovered, Rebecca flounced through the dayroom with an extra round of injections. As soon as Natasha felt the stuff hit her hypothalamus Carl arrived to bring her to Dr. Holmes's office.

Fighting the fuzziness in her mind, Natasha lost her balance and banged into the wall. The attendant took the chance to hold her elbow, rub his arm against her chest as he pretended to hold her upright. "Woah!" he said. "You're seriously loopy. Good thing you didn't hit your head hard, 'm'I right? Head wounds bleed really quick, 'm'I right? Happened to my friend Jake when he drank too much beer two weeks ago. Walked straight into a stop sign and ended up on the pavement in a puddle of blood."

"S'th'injections," Natasha slurred. "D'you know whassinem?" She couldn't think clearly, and she desperately tried to gain control over her swirling, disordered conscious.

He shrugged. "Lithium. It's standard for these places. Hits the bloodstream fast though. It's in your blood now."

Behind him, Natasha wrinkled her nose at his smug tone of superior knowledge and his continued talk of blood. She managed to clear her mind enough to ask, "Before you take me in to the office, can I use a bathroom? Please?" If there was a sink there, she could rinse her wrists under cold water; maybe she could scout out the hall a bit more as well.

"Yeah? You can't wait, huh? On your period?"

She stifled a shudder as Carl's tongue appeared in one corner of his mouth but didn't respond. Let him think whatever pervy, gross thing he wanted; she would be on her way by midnight.

He took Natasha to a locked door, opened it with a key in his belt. She stepped in, tried without success to lock it after her, and looked around. There was a vent high up in the wall, which looked promising, and she promised herself she would own Carl's keys before midnight.

Those plans were interrupted when the attendant came in, put one arm around her from behind, and spoke into her ear. "All done?" the man grinned. "Time for paybacks." He unbuckled his belt and undid his pants. "See? I'm hard because the blood rushes there. It's all blood. Want to taste it?" He pressed her head down with one hand.

She could snap his neck, break both arms and run, but it was not the time. Even though it was raining outside, the daylight would make her too visible. And if she refused, Carl might order more injections, which would slow things up; she wasn't sure how much more lithium her system could neutralize.

Natasha let out a frustrated breath and got on her knees. At that moment there was no other option.

Like Loki, she pictured someone else as she did it.

* * *

"How long has the hospital been open?"

Dr. Holmes tilted his chair back. "You seem very interested in the history of this place, Natalie."

She pretended to fluff her hair and opened her eyes wide. "But you're doing so much good here. I've never felt so well and fulfilled as I do under your care, doctor."

"I'm glad to hear it. Well, we've only been open a few months, but I like to think we're making our mark in the profession." He stopped and scribbled a few notes on the pad in front of him.

Natasha was able to read it clearly, even though the writing sloped backwards and was upside down.  _The shadows come alive,_  he wrote,  _when they don't think I am watching._

* * *

As soon as she was released from the therapy session, Natasha darted back to her room. Between Carl and the doctor she felt she had been held over a table and raped. One was clueless and the other obviously insane.

Natasha got down her plans from her hiding spot, rewrote the first few steps, and added the air vents to her plan of the building. The fuzzy feeling of static playing in the back of her mind had faded, replaced by her usually alert state status. Still, after each series of injections, the comeback time was increasing exponentially. Natasha could see that if she went through a few more days of the 'treatment' her alert hours would disappear and she would end up like Maria – a mindless vegetable.

Everything was in place. Carl's shift ended at ten; at that point she would lure him into her room for another bout of fellatio, take him down, and filch his keys plus his uniform. The timing would coincide with Rebecca's parade through the dayroom, and Loki would be too occupied to interfere with Natasha's course of action.

As soon as she left the top floor she would have to make a few guesses about the lower levels of the hospital, but the air vents could function as a backup escape route. When she escaped to the lower levels of the asylum she would find transport and drive west until she found that safe house, relying on gut instinct and imperceptible signs in the forest to lead her there.

As for Loki, once Rebecca brought him back to the dayroom and they found Natasha was en route to the safe house, he was on his own - and she would hold him to that bet. Everything was in place, double-checked with all contingencies covered.

* * *

Natasha decided to take one last look out of the dayroom window and mark the direction she should drive when she was out. The rain would obscure her view through the wired glass, but she could memorize a few close landmarks to ease her way. After stashing the Time magazine with her plans, her crayon, and the extra half orange behind the loose tile in her bathroom, she adjusted her hospital gown. Probably she looked pale from the extra injections; Natasha pinched her cheeks for some color and slipped on her flip-flops.

They were waiting in the hall. Rebecca and Carl stood close together, the nurse's expression self-righteous, the attendant's clueless as usual.

Behind them stood Loki.

_He raises his eyebrows when he's furious,_  Natasha realized suddenly,  _instead of frowning._  She knew she was fucked; probably Loki had found a video feed of her servicing Carl in the washroom and in his anger he tipped off Rebecca.

"Inappropriate interaction between patients and employees is not allowed," Rebecca began.

Natasha couldn't help a hoot of incredulous laughter. "Are you serious right now?"

Loki had the grace to look away. "Perhaps I made a mistake," he began.

It made no difference. The nurse was in bitch mode; Natasha had seen it before. The Black Widow moved her weight to her toes, prepared to launch into action. Her plan would still happen, just earlier and a lot dirtier than she had anticipated; SHIELD would have to clean up after she got herself out with the files intact.

Before she could move, she felt the prick in her neck. "Lots of questions," Dr. Holmes said behind her. "Too many for a patient with manic depression."

_Fuck!_  How the hell had she missed the doctor's arrival? The lithium must have messed with her more seriously than she thought. Natasha tried to whirl and take him down, but the needle slid into her jugular before she could move.

"No!" Loki shouted. "Stop!" His eyes filled with panic and horrified guilt.

Natasha felt another needle at the base of her spine, and the static in her head grew louder. It was impossible to hear what Loki was shouting so fervently and passionately.

She slid down the wall, and the world went sideways.


	7. Solitary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty violent chapter - my sick brain insisted on including some yucky stuff. Sorry.

_Lithium toxicity may occur on an acute basis in patients who accumulate high levels during ongoing chronic therapy._

* * *

Natasha groaned and shook her head, trying to rid the slurry of feedback from her brain. She was able to get on her knees, although she had to keep her forehead pressed onto the padded ground. It felt as though she were looking through thick red bars at something dirty and white.

An unknown amount of time passed before she was able to sit up and take inventory of the room where she was held: a tiny closet of a room with padded walls and noise-canceling tiles on the ceiling. For all she knew there was no entrance or exit. The scuffed white she had seen was the cotton batting covering the entire place: a claustrophobic, muted little cave.

With nowhere to go or sit Natasha leaned back against the wall, crossed her ankles. She wanted to scream, curse, punch Loki in the face for his betrayal, but she knew she had to ignore that anger and reserve her strength. The injections had tried her stamina and flexibility to the limit. She had days left at the most before she lost her sanity, and that time had just been sliced in half by the increased meds.

If she rested and reserved her strength she could take down any poor fool who was sent in with food. Or water. Or more injections.

Her mind skittered away from the last possibility. Natasha breathed slowly, forced her psyche into a relaxed state. She pretended she was back in Manchester, looking at the lily-of-the-valley blossoms by the heated fountain. The snowflakes fell lazily from a gray sky, dotted the old walkways like stars.

_I imagine I am with you._

What a crock! She couldn't believe she had considered it seriously. The next time she saw the god of lies she would make him regret the one he told her.

_No. Relax, Romanov. Snowflakes. Blossoms. White flowers against green leaves, and the sharp cold of the wind. The tinny sound of Japanese pop coming from a student's radio. A smell of sausages and chips from nearby cafes._

There was a slight clink, and Natasha jumped into combat position, crouching low so she could take down the visitor. Perhaps they would be holding a tray, which she could use as a weapon; it would also mean their hands would be engaged and make getting out that much easier.

That idea faded when a narrow opening near the floor appeared and widened. A cardboard tray holding a small bottle of water, more oatmeal, and a paper napkin was pushed through before the aperture slid shut. So everything was automatized including food delivery.

Stifling her disappointment Natasha ate the food, bland as it was, and drank half the water. She decided to save the rest in case she wasn't fed again for a while.

The slot opened again, and a pan slid into the room. With a sinking heart, Natasha realized its purpose; at least it was better than soiling the padded floor. Screwing up her face, she used it and dried off as well as she could with the napkin. An instant later it was withdrawn.

Obviously she was being monitored. "I'll do whatever you want," she said to the ceiling. "You can torture and pump me for information. I know a place where money is stashed, the kind that can't be traced. There are several deposit boxes in forgotten vaults filled with krugerrands, diamonds, and bonds. Another holds a secret the government would ransom in a heartbeat for an obscene amount of money. Just let me go and I'll give you all of them."

There was no response, although she seemed to detect a sort of consideration from the unseen watcher. A different type of click sounded, and two sets of slots, one on either side of her, opened. Clamps shot out, captured her wrists, and pulled her flush against the wall.

If she had been on her game it never would have happened; she could have escaped the mechanisms, used the clamps as weapons. But after several rounds of modified lithium Natasha's reaction time had slowed considerably. All she could do was watch as the clamps tightened on her arms. Two hypodermics emerged from the slots, slid under her skin, and the deadly liquid pumped into her veins.

* * *

Her mind took longer to clear after that round. Once she was able to think, Natasha guessed she had been out for about an hour; she was able to estimate the time by the red marks on her skin where she had passed out, by the sting where her right leg had fallen asleep.

Soon she wouldn't be able to avoid the injections at all. No one was going to come inside the cell where she was held. She tried climbing up to the sound-canceling tiles but fell heavily on the padded floor, wincing and cursing.

Her addled mind pictured the cell on fire, flames licking the padded walls until the smoke overcame her. Was that how it had happened in the hospital fire? Were patients stuck inside their rooms, unable to move, helpless to do anything but watch their own bright death as it approached?

Natasha shook her head and the flames disappeared.  _It's not real,_  she told herself.  _I'm hallucinating._

The fire was replaced by snakes, silent as they slid through the food delivery slot and directly to her legs. She felt their scales on her skin as they moved up under her hospital gown.

She pinched herself, smacked her face with her open palm. The snakes faded, leaving her with chills that shook her body followed by the heat of severe fever.

_Was this it?_  Her enhanced system had overcome many things in the past, but could it fight back against the continued onslaught of super drugs? Natasha put her head in her hands and wept a little. The tears seeped through her fingers. If she was crying, her entire physique was starting to weaken.

No, she refused to go that way. If she died, it would be on her own terms - as the Black Widow. Natasha got up, felt her way to the bottle of water, allowed herself one small sip. The warm liquid cleared her mind, allowed her to start a new series of plans. She was being watched, so perhaps she could enact a Beijing scenario – make them think she was dead, send someone in for the corpse, and when they did she would take the orderlies down. Make them pay.

Before she could gather her wits enough to begin the scenario the slots opened once more, and she was pulled back against the wall by the clamps. The needles stuck her skin, and it all happened again.

* * *

The next time she woke she heard an oily snick. At that point any sounds equaled more injections in her confused, tilted, padded world. Natasha tried to move, eyes widening with horror as she realized while she was out someone had placed her inside some kind of shroud, tight enough to make any movement impossible. Her only view was through a slit in the metal casket surrounding her.

A line appeared in the padding of one white wall and widened into a doorway. Dr. Holmes entered with a hand truck; he whistled when he saw her. "You'll make a wonderful addition to my collection. I deserve a small celebration..." He removed a tiny bag filled with white powder, dug out a helping on the nail of his little finger, and held the stuff to one nostril. Natasha heard the sound of his short, strong inhale followed by a long "Aaaaah."

So the doctor himself was using. Was there any way, immobilized as she was, of forcing that to her advantage? She tried not to consider the fact his drug habit in front of her meant he already considered her as nothing more than a bag of bones.

She felt the floor tilt as he put her metal pod on the hand truck. The wheels squeaked as the doctor rolled her casket down a hall filled with doorways. As they passed voices could be heard begging for water, for food, for more injections.

Natasha was loaded into a service elevator, the kind with rippled insulation blankets instead of finished walls. A small click echoed down the shaft as the doctor pressed a button, and the sensation of descent followed. Her stomach rolled slightly, and she counted backwards to stop herself from being sick inside the shroud.

She couldn't even wriggle her fingers or move a toe.  _White blossoms,_  Natasha thought.  _Swing dancing. Japanese pop._

_I imagine I am with you._

The elevator doors opened, and she was pushed forward. "Gas chamber over there, next to the extraction room," Dr. Holmes said. He came into view of the slit in front of Natasha's eyes as he pushed a button; a light turned on to reveal a lab behind a pane of glass.

The bright interior leapt into her vision, revealing something like the illustrations from Grey's Anatomy. Inside the room a body hung on a large hook; at some recent point the man or woman - it was impossible to tell which - had been completely flayed.

Hurriedly she closed her eyes and prayed the sight wouldn't stay with her for long to haunt her future dreams. "Whass point?" she managed to croak. Her voice was hollow inside the metal prison.

"Organs," he replied cheerfully. "We harvest them and sell them on the black market. Alas, the enhanced lithium increases antidiuresis. But you wouldn't understand what that means…"

"Kidneys," Natasha interrupted. Speaking made her shudder, and she swallowed again so she wouldn't vomit down the front of the metal shroud and choke on her own puke. "You can't sell the kidneys."

"Yes, well done." His voice was light as though a failing student had just produced an unexpectedly good answer in class. "It's unfortunate because the kidney market is so profitable. Still, we use every other scrap available: eyes, skin, even hair. And the skeleton of course – third world markets, you understand."

"Murder Hotel," Natasha said. "Chicago World's Fair. Dr. Holmes."

There was an extended silence. "My name is indeed taken from that illustrious genius, as are the plans for this hospital. I used his ideas: the hidden passages, the laboratory, the back entrance for receiving and shipping. You are much more intelligent than I thought…"

"Of course she is, you idiot. She's the Black Widow." The low voice came from the other end of the long, dark passage.

Through the slit in her metal shroud, Natasha saw Loki; he carried a scalpel and wore an expression of utter fury. Behind her the doctor lunged as though he were reaching for something; Loki's hand flicked and the tiny blade sang past her coffin prison.

There was a meaty thunk, and a large object dropped to the floor. Whatever it was didn't move again.

She was just able to watch Loki approach. A set of keys appeared in his hand, and he fiddled with the side of the iron encasing her. After a few minutes and a long string of Norse curses, Loki managed to get the shroud to open from a hinge in its side, like an Iron Maiden without spikes. Natasha fell out, her knees completely weak, and he caught her before she could hit the floor.

She tried to talk but couldn't make her mouth work. Loki lifted her up in his arms, cradling her head with one hand. "I am sorry," he whispered. "I did not mean for you to be taken to such a place or be forced to see those horrors. Natasha, I am so very sorry."

Something was wrong with those words, but Natasha was too tired to figure it out. "Doctor?" she managed to ask.

"Dead."

Her head nodded against his shoulder as he retrieved the scalpel, not agreeing with anything Loki said but because she simply couldn't hold herself up any longer. There was a series of bobbing movements as they seemed to be leaving the hall, going down a stairway, out into a garage flickering under fitful neon lights. "Wait," she croaked. "Files. Information."

Loki waved a memory stick at her. "Here. It's all here."

A clang behind them. Natasha knew who it was as soon as she heard the voice: "Blood! Gonna be a lot of blood!"

Carl was there, wielding a baseball bat. He hit one of the supports of the garage, making another metallic, singing noise.

In one smooth motion, Natasha plucked the scalpel from Loki's hand and threw the knife. It landed with a singing hiss in the man's left eyeball, quivered, before he fell on the ground with a loud smack.

"You wanted blood, asshole? You got it." It was the last thing she could say before her head swam and she began to cough, thinking her throat might rip with the effort.

Loki opened a car door – somehow, he must have stolen a set of keys - and placed her carefully into the vehicle. Natasha felt the faux leather of a truck seat under her and heard the rev of an engine, followed by the squeal of tires forced into a death spiral.

A bump as Loki steered the truck up a ramp. The white splotch of Rebecca's face, shouting and waving a Colt Commander in an amateurish fashion before she dove out of the truck's way.

Sudden pops of sound as she shot at them.

Tree branches, brushing the windshield of the truck hurtling into the darkness.

Loki's face, intent on the forest in front of them.

Natasha gagged and retched, wondering if it was all another hallucination or really happening before she passed out.


	8. Safehouse

_Lithium deuteride_ _was the_ _fusion fuel_ _of choice in early versions of the_ _hydrogen bomb_ _._

* * *

Natasha opened her eyes and squinted against a soft glow from some unknown source in a far corner. A man stood next to an old-fashioned lantern, black hair curling against his neck.

She groaned and felt her stomach rebel as she tried to sit up. Instantly the man came to her side and sat on the side of the bed. "Natasha," he said. "I am so very sorry.  _I_ caused all of this to happen – but I did not mean for you to be involved in…"

"I'm going to be sick." She interrupted his long-winded apology.

At that he lifted her off the bed and carried her into a large bathroom. She just had time to appreciate the clean atmosphere and white towels before he leaned her over the toilet and held her hair back while she voided the contents of her stomach into the bowl.

The man cleaned her up, gave her water to drink and, when she croaked "Toothbrush," handed her a new one wrapped in cellophane. He waited as she washed her face, brushed her teeth and gargled before he brought her back to the bed, settled her under thick flannel sheets and slid an extra pillow behind her head.

Natasha knew his name, but the pounding in her head wouldn't let her say it. It felt like an entire hive of bees buzzed under her skin, and she clutched his shirt so she could look into his face and beg for what she wanted. "Injection," she pleaded. "I can't take it. Give me an injection. Now. Make it stop." Her body was deep into withdrawal; she could feel it.

For some reason that made him look sad. He closed his eyes and the line above his upper lip turned white. "I think you will go through some physical pain for a while. I am so sorry, Natasha. Do not worry – I will stay with you every second."

* * *

When she vomited again, too weak to move or warn him, he cleaned her up and remade the bed with a flash of sparkling magic. The fever returned, and she shook with heat and chills in turns. He put a cold cloth on her head and covered her with blankets while she screamed for the meds or at the very least something to end her misery; he held her hand and read to her from a book of Russian poetry. At last the sound of his voice reading the words faded, and she thought she slept.

* * *

Waking, she felt incredibly weak. Although she resisted he made her drink water and, later, eat a bowl of some delicious-smelling broth with fresh parsley floating on the top. Slowly the buzzing under her skin faded and after a cup of tea she said his name.

"Loki."

He dropped the book he held and hurried to Natasha's side. "I am so sorry," he repeated. "It was all my fault when you were taken to the solitary cell. And the extra injections – it was because of me. All me."

She frowned. Something was wrong with what he said; another sip of tea scalded her mouth, cleared her mind and she figured it out. "You're the god of mischief. You don't apologize to anyone, ever. What's up?"

Loki sat on the bed and regarded the wall in front of him steadily. "You are not the first." His profile was severe, cleanly cut against the dark walls.

That made no sense at all. "Not that first? The first of what? What does that even mean?"

He covered his eyes with one hand. "I betrayed – someone else. Someone important. An outright betrayal of trust to another who did not deserve it, simply because at the time I was angry and allowed my temper to overrule my sense. And I - I seem to have the knack of aligning myself with the wrong people."

"Aligning yourself with the wrong people. Does that mean you were behind the asylum's set up in the first place? For bringing me there? Was it all some sort of sick revenge? Well - was it?"

"No, not at all. I knew nothing about the hospital - I swear this to you on the head of the other I betrayed. And she was very important to me, Natasha. So of anything I say to you, this you can believe."

"But you had me put in solitary - why?"

His hand dropped, but still Loki never looked at her. "It cut me like a dagger to see you with him."

Natasha didn't want to intrude anymore on that line of questioning; in any case, she had the feeling he suffered his own form of detox from the constant injections they both had suffered. If not at that moment, it would happen soon. Plus she felt too weak to figure it all out.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"The safe house. I brought you here in the truck I stole."

She finished the tea and he poured her another cup from a steaming pot. The room was done in wood and glass in the manner of a high-end ski cabin. Loki had dressed her in loose, clean pajamas made of very soft cotton; he wore a white shirt unbuttoned at his throat with the cuffs rolled up over leather breeches. "Will they come after us?"

"Yes, but they will not find us here." Loki held out his hand and a stem of lily-of-the-valley appeared in his palm; he held it to his nose and breathed in the scent before handing the flower to her. "My magic returned as soon as we left that place. I have put up enough protections to make certain we won't be bothered while you fight against the poison in your blood."

Natasha sniffed the perfume of the white blossoms and felt weariness pour over her like warm water. "I want to sleep some more," she said fuzzily. The chills were returning; she felt she had ice inside her bones, as though she would never get warm. When she closed her eyes she pictured the padded room, the cuffs holding her as the automized needles slid into her veins. She saw the metal shroud and the flayed body, and a dreadful shiver shook her.

Gently Loki took the flower from her, put it in a small vase made of green glass, and set it on a table by the bed. "Of course." He stood, but she tugged on the turn of his sleeve to keep him close.

"No, I want you to get in the bed with me. The last thing I want to be is alone right now – I picture too many things in my head. Besides, I can't get warm." She shuddered again, with cold and with something else.

His signature grin lit up his face. "Agent, this is so sudden!"

A flash of her old, forceful self broke through the weakness invading her body. "Give me a break. We're just sleeping, so don't get your hopes up." Natasha shifted over to make room, turned away from his side of the bed in a clear signal nothing more than rest was going to happen in the crisp sheets.

Loki padded around the room. She heard the small movement of his shirt thrown on a chair, boots unlaced and placed neatly to one side. Belt and pants unbuckled, a clink of metal as they hit the floor. The mattress yielding under his weight. His arms, one sliding under her neck and the other around her stomach. The cool feeling of his skin next to hers.

Supremely comforted, Natasha drifted off right away.

* * *

"No – no – no –  _not_  the stairs to the left." Loki shifted and jerked in his sleep, jolting Natasha out of a black slumber. She sat up, feeling better than she had in days – the sleep and the tea had done the trick.

The god next to her, however, struggled and cried out, lost in some interior torment. "Hey, Loki? Can you hear me?" she asked. Cautiously she put one hand on his arm; she had no idea what he would do if aroused suddenly from what seemed to be a very violent nightmare.

He sat up, eyes wide and staring at nothing. "Don't tell them, you fool!" he shouted.

"It's over," Natasha soothed. "Go back to sleep, Loki. It's over."

His face snapped to confront hers, and he gripped her arms to pull Natasha close so he could speak directly to her. His nose grazed her cheek. "Don't let them go up the stairs to the left," he begged.

Natasha shook her head. "No, I won't. Nothing's getting past me." In her experience when someone was in the middle of a delusion the best thing to do was to play along.

_And it seems Loki is not immune to the effects of the super-lithium after all_ , she mused. Just as she had suspected all along.

She resigned herself to dealing with his own brand of detox; it was only fair after he held her head as she puked up her guts. Who knew what it would entail? Nightmares, certainly, and probably some hallucinations of his own later. Perhaps violence as well. She could handle it – she hoped he just wouldn't get too crazy lying next to her in the bed.

"Are you certain?" A tear trickled down his cheek, and his lips turned downward. She had never seen him so melancholy.

"Hey," she repeated, wiping it away with her thumb. "Loki, it's Natasha. You know me, and when I promise nobody's getting past me I mean it."

Loki clasped her to his chest, cradled her head with long fingers and murmured softly. As her mind cleared she heard what he whispered: that he needed her, that she understood him, of all the beings in the nine realms he could count on her. He said she was his queen. "You will sit on the throne of Asgard beside me," he promised in her ear, "and rule the universe. Now that I have found you, I will not let you go." He nuzzled her neck, making a purring sound in his chest.

"Woah, hang on just a minute." She had to stop those thoughts before he fully awoke and started to believe it all himself. "First of all, I'm  _not_  going to Asgard, and second – have you met me, Loki? I'm no queen. I curse like a sailor and enjoy playing with knives far too much…"

Natasha's words were cut off as Loki's lips left her neck and covered her mouth. His cool, slim tongue licked her bottom lip, and as she tried to protest he deepened the kiss.

Breathless, Natasha fell back among the pillows. She was too weak to fight him. He might go into a fit if she stopped him. In a moment he would come to his senses and quit kissing her of his own accord.

Those were the things she told herself.

Loki landed on top of her, his eyes looking into hers, whispering that she was his, he wanted her, he wanted no one else.

The words, so strange and passionate, vibrated against some long-forgotten sinews of her body. She felt her heart race under his hands, her thighs loosen to allow him access when he settled between them, her back arch as he bit her neck.

Then with some flash of his magic their clothes were gone, and there was nothing between her and the god of lies, between the Black Widow and the villain who had tried to take over her planet, and she felt the length of him against her hipbone, his tongue and teeth scratching deliberately over her breasts and belly, rising to claim her mouth again as he positioned himself at her center.

Loki framed her face between his hands and looked down at her with wide eyes. "My queen," he repeated.

"I'm not…" But it was too late. With one slow, twisting thrust he entered her, and the cool rush of it made her cry out, grasp his hair, pull him close with legs wound around his waist. Natasha heard a long string of curses leave her lips, some in Russian, as he slipped inside again and again, withdrawing completely when she came close to her end, both of them shuddering.

Then he entered again, his tongue sliding in and out between her lips in a mirror of what he was doing to her. Natasha's body began to tremble as she neared the final rush; her breath catching against his cheek, his tickling her ear. It was so soon, so delicious she was sure she was about to -

"No. Not yet." Loki lifted her off, sat up, drew her back to kiss her lips, palm her ass and pull her astride him.

"I want it," she demanded shamelessly. It felt incredible, after all that time of horror and degradation in the hospital; besides, he was so  _good_  at it – centuries of experience, she thought in confusion as Loki smiled against her teeth and allowed her to settle herself on him, draw him back inside.

The smooth sensation made her fling her head back and cry his name out loud. If there were enemies out there in the dark, they would just have to kill her while she rode it out on Loki's sex. There was no way she could stop.

"Natasha," he groaned. "Oh, my own agent. I want you. I want you."

"I want you," she echoed, finally acknowledging the truth to herself, and they whispered it together, lips and tongues locked while she picked up speed. And when she came, walls seizing around his shaking member, he crashed her back among the pillows to thrust into her like a madman, shouting in final submission.

* * *

When his nightmares returned they were already in the tight embrace of slumber. Natasha murmured words of comfort; as Loki woke and realized where he was, he breached her again, turning her to take her from the back so he could stroke her breasts and clit as they fucked. "You are real, are you not? Tell me," he demanded.

"Loki, I'm real. I'm Natasha. I'm here."

"My queen," he repeated before he spurted into her again.

* * *

She lost count of the number of times they did it. Each one began with his nightmares, shouts about the staircase, of how he was a fool. Once he cried, "You are!" and held out his hands as though he was talking to someone who was no longer there.

She thought she nearly lost him that time, he seemed so sad and wracked with guilt. When she spoke to him he didn't hear; instead he cried that he said the wrong thing, that he was a fool. "You disappeared from my dungeon room before I could make it right," he shouted to the shadow inside his mind.

There was only one way to bring him back. Natasha took him inside her mouth and sucked until he was hard and rearing again, carrying him back to the present. They were inside the safehouse, she whispered into his ear inside the wood and glass of the little room.

But what saved him in the end was the fact of her own cunt, tightening around his erection as they cantered back to reality, out of the dark horrors and into the sun.

* * *

A thread of gray light tickled her vision when they finished, panting next to each other. It was morning. Natasha's legs shook as though she had just run a marathon; in a way, she had. Loki was trembling as well; he had one leg thrown over her hips, arms locked around her neck and waist.

Outside the cabin there was complete silence. "Snow is falling," Loki whispered.

"How can you tell?"

He didn't answer. Instead he held up his arm, pointing at the ceiling. A tiny ball of light emerged and floated to the lantern, lighting it. Natasha felt an answering bubble of delight in her chest; she had never seen anything so beautiful.

"Watch. This will hurt you, but only for a moment." Loki's arm and finger turned blue and, as she gazed into his face, his eyes turned red.

"What are you…" Natasha stopped with a gasp as his finger lowered to her inner thigh and traced something there. The feeling was so cold it burned, and when she looked down, she saw his touch left a mark, a tiny V on its side.

Slowly Loki's skin turned white, his eyes returned to the mischievous green she knew. "Kenaz," he explained. "It is my runic mark." His finger hovered over Natasha's thigh.

"You're not telling me this is permanent?"

"Oh, yes. Now you are mine."


	9. Heart

_In very rare instances lithium can cause Brugada syndrome, a potentially fatal abnormality in the electrical activity of the heart._

* * *

"They are out among the trees, searching for us." Loki stood against the dark glass, looking out into the forest.

"Who are 'they'?" Natasha put down the slim, leather notebook he had conjured for her and marked her place with her pen. "I know at least one of them must be from Asgard, because you're here. So it can't be a Midgard op, unless someone figured out how to access the Bifrost…"

His face lit with laughter as he turned away from the window. "Midgard op – Bifrost – you speak like an Aesir already. And I am not certain of their identities, but I am certain you will discover the truth eventually."

Natasha tilted her head to one side, observing him. "Will they find us or does your magic still hold? Are we protected?"

"It still holds. And we are protected." Loki bent and kissed her, dragging her head back with one fist in her hair to bite her throat. "Tomorrow we will be able to return to our lives, but for now we must spend one last night together."

"Oh, of course we do." She freed herself, stood, and crossed the room restlessly. "And if we stepped outside we would be instantly set upon by a marauding horde, I suppose? My, how convenient for you."

"Of course. Much as I would like to escort you to a fine tavern, ply you with priceless wines and buy you diamonds, we must hide out for the next few hours. However, Agent, I will make it worth your time."

"That's fine – I don't need any diamonds." She returned to face him, fisted his collar, and pulled him to the seat running along the window. "Tell me something, Loki. Will you give me the files you stole from the hospital before you return to Asgard?"

"Before  _we_  return to Asgard," he corrected her.

Natasha stared at him for a moment. "I can't go with you. My life is SHIELD – I am an agent before anything else."

Loki spread long fingers over her thigh. Under his thumb she felt the slight sting of the runic mark he had left there; it made her heart and clit flutter, both at once. "And my life is to rule Asgard. Are you so certain you want to let me return alone?" His gaze darkened with intensity.

"Listen. Last night was - it was good. Unexpectedly so. I want to ... the thing is ... as a SHIELD agent my work comes first." She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. "Any chance you and I could have that date without leaving the safe house?"

* * *

When Natasha emerged from a long bath she found a white dress lying across the bed, cut to plunge between her breasts and bare her back. Loki insisted on toweling her dry and dressing her in the gown, his touch lingering on the rune mark. He was already dressed in a white shirt and slim dark tie, hair clean and soft against his neck.

"Come here." Loki drew Natasha's hand through his arm and pulled her to a long mirror on the wall where she saw their reflections side by side – a slender couple in black and white. "Our eyes are the same color," he pointed out, "and we wear the same expression. Except for the hair, we could be twins."

She didn't want to admit it, but she saw what he meant; they both bore the same wary, searching look as though they were exhausted from pain and Fate's betrayal. To tell him so would reveal too much of her past, so she turned it into a breezy joke. "Twins, huh? That explains a lot. No wonder you're so attracted to me."

* * *

Loki created a table filled with steaming plates, chilled oysters and the fine wine he had promised: red, molten with age and luxury, poured into crystal goblets. The glass was heavy in her palm as she measured the vintage on her tongue. "Tell me what really happened in Asgard," Natasha insisted.

Loki picked up an oyster shell, cupped her chin, and slid the contents into her mouth. "Thor thinks I am dead, as you discovered. The rest of the realm believes Odin sits on the throne."

Natasha swallowed, drank more wine. "And neither of those things are true." She clasped her hands and leaned her chin on them, knowing the movement would allow him to watch her breasts against the white silk. "Why is it so important to you to become the AllFather?"

"I had to sit by and watch the realms be mismanaged since I was a youth, Asgard above all." Loki's nostrils flared as he cut his steak with simmering violence. "It is time someone put it to rights, and I have been given the chance at last."

"I find it difficult to imagine you turning away from trickery to the serious business of running the nine realms - but I'll let that go for now. What of the person – or Aesir, or whatever – who imprisoned us in that hospital?"

He lifted his shoulders. "What of it? I have a few suspicions. Perhaps it was Amora – an enchantress in my world. Her magic would be strong enough to reach Midgard, contact the insane doctor, and set up the hospital."

"But why? That's a lot of work to put me and you into a dreary asylum." Natasha sliced her own steak and ate a small bite, nearly moaning at how tender it was.

"Maybe she has an idea of what truly happened to me and wants to get the object of her affections onto the throne instead."

"The object of her affections," Natasha mused. "Thor?"

"Yes, Thor." He pushed his plate away and lifted his glass to touch the rim of hers. "They are all in love with him in Asgard, you know."

"Oh." Natasha didn't give a shit about Thor's love life. "That makes sense, I suppose – but why were Maria and I dragged in as well? If someone wanted to bury you undercover so they could place Thor – or even their own puppet king – on the throne, my presence would confuse the entire operation."

"Maybe Amora, or whomever it was, decided to make certain you wouldn't be called in on the case."

"No." She shook her head. "That's not logical. If no one knew you were alive except this one mythical being – okay, I'll say Amora for now – it would be perfect. Get you into the hospital, take away your own powers, drug you up, tempt you with pretty nurses – it could have gone on for years. Your supposed death would be the perfect cover. And if you did escape, who would ever believe anything a refugee from the mental institution said?"

Loki nodded. "It is a conundrum, I must admit." His face dimpled with his charming smile, and he added, "Always the special agent. Natasha, come to Asgard and rule with me. I saw you in that place wearing a hospital gown as though it were silk and velvet robes. You are born to be a queen – my queen."

She clinked her glass with his but shook her head. "I was born to be an  _agent_. I'm damn good at it – and I won't give it up. I want to untangle our little conundrum, to use your word. I'm gonna find the enhanced lithium and destroy the entire cache while making certain all the prisoners in that place are safe, especially those in the solitary rooms on the top floor where I was held. Besides, I'm really doing you a favor if you think about it. You'd get bored of me eventually, just as you did with Rebecca…"

"No. Stop – do not even say such a thing." Loki threw down his fork and sat back, his legs splayed on the chair. "Did you ever look up at the stars?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact I have."

"And did you ever consider their beauty, their infinite majesty?"

"Yes," she replied slowly. "Once, in Russia, I stole out and spent the night on a hill watching the planets and constellations wheel overhead. It was cold, and the dew soaked through my skirt and stockings. Still, I felt I soared above the ground, as though I was falling into a well of stars – got in a lot of trouble for it, later," she concluded.

"Natasha, that is what I see when I talk to you. Each thing you say is filled with possibility, a starting point with thousands of directions. And just as the sky you watched in Russia was a mere slice of the universe, I know the short time we spend together reveals just a tiny portion of the masterpiece that you are inside. Truth be told, I knew it right away. Why do you think I admitted to you I held the throne of Asgard as soon as we spoke inside that hospital? You were the first – and only – being I told."

She put her wineglass down and sat back, winded by what he said. Loki was right – in his case, at least, she had seen only the tiniest fraction of the amazing, complex mind inside his head. Together they could explore worlds, concepts, art, poetry, music, possibilities beyond counting.

"Yes," he breathed, as though he knew what orbited through her mind. "Furthermore…" Loki curled his fingers around the back of her neck, drew her in for a long kiss. He tasted like wine with the added flavor of male tongue. The promise was implicit – while they explored their personalities, they would spend her lifetime learning each other's bodies as well.

"No." She released herself, sighed, and sat back. "I can't. Above all else I work for SHIELD. It's what I am – it defines me."

"Little idiot." He shook her slightly, his hand still on her neck. "Don't you see that as Queen of the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil you could fight crime and evil more completely than you or anyone inside that organization ever dreamed?" Suddenly he pulled her chair next to his so he could kiss her eyelids. "I do not ask you to stop being an agent. I only ask you to become my partner on top of it. Natasha, do you know how many goddesses – and gods as well – would kill to have this offered to them? I am handing you the cosmos on a plate."

"I…"

"Be quiet. Do not answer me now." He spanned her waist, touched her breasts through the neckline of the dress, slid his thumb over the rune on her thigh. At that, her entire body shivered; obviously he had left some sort of enchantment there as well as the mark.

She managed to break away from his kiss. "That's not fair, using erotic magic like that. What does that rune mean, anyway?"

"Most importantly, that you are mine. Beyond that, Kenaz denotes fire, energy, and passion."

"Yeah. Passion, huh? So, I'm hosed, pretty much. Whenever you touch my little tattoo there, I'm going to turn to jelly and fall into your arms, right? You set me up, didn't you?"

His tug yanked her dress up to her hips and lifted her so Natasha sat astride him on the chair. "Yes, but you will enjoy it." Loki laughed, his breath warm on her face.

Natasha tilted her hips forward to feel Loki harden beneath her and showed him the steak knife she had secreted from the table in her wrist. "You said we were twins," she purred. "It's time for me to leave my mark on you. Tell me, Loki, if I had a rune – which would it be?"

He gasped and pushed up between her thighs; she could feel his erection grow next to the white silk lapping her legs. "Perhaps Eihwaz, for endurance, protection. Someone who can be trusted. Or Perthro, for secret matters. A mystery."

"A mystery." Natasha liked that. "Show me how to draw it."

Reaching around her, he dipped his finger in the wine and drew a spiked symbol on the tablecloth; it looked like a cup balanced on its side. "Do you claim this rune as yours, Agent?"

"I do." Natasha undid his tie to pull his shirt open, licked the knife, and placed it flat against his skin. "Perthro – it's mine. I claim it. Now, make this blade sharper with your magic - it will be easier for you."

"Natasha." His voice was a whimper; he would break down soon if she didn't hurry. The steak knife shimmered and became a dagger engraved with strange symbols, glinting in the candlelight.

She slid the point over his heart; the white skin trembled and dimpled with goosebumps. The first incision made Loki curse in the same unknown language he used earlier. He managed to hold still as she wiped the blood with her napkin and added the flourishes on each end. As she sliced his flesh, she whispered in English and Russian how proud she was of him, how well he was doing, what a perfect canvas his body made for her blade.

When she finished and threw down the dagger down to land, quivering, on its point in the wood of the floor, Loki rose with her legs wound around his waist and pushed the dishes and glasses onto the floor with one sweep of his arm. Natasha meant to fetch him a bandage or at least wipe off the blood streaming down his chest, but there was no time. His wide eyes and panting breath betrayed his desperation. Balancing her hips on the table, he ripped her dress up over her cleft and fumbled at his breeches with one shaking hand.

"Let me," she demanded. Natasha undid the buckle, pulled his belt out and looped it in one smooth motion. Using the thick leather, she tilted his chin up to kiss him, and as he entered her she felt his blood smear over the white dress like the tracks of a fox escaped from a trap, running through the snow.

"Mine," he said against her lips. "You are mine, whether you come with me or not."

* * *

"Leave the scar," Natasha ordered. She lay on her stomach in the bed, playing with Loki's hair. "I mean it – don't touch it with your magic. I want it to stay on your skin."

"I was not going to." His voice was unusually soft. "It is far too nice a gift, and your debt to me is completely paid. Although while the wound is still open I want to add something to enhance it. Agent, give me your hand."

Curious, Natasha held out one arm. He caught her fingers and held it over the rune she had cut; a red and green haze swirled from their interlaced fingers and seeped into the wounded skin before the smoke disappeared. "What was that?" she asked.

"Now your little work of art will have the same effect on me as my rune on your thigh does to you." At that thought Natasha couldn't help grinning; the flesh between her legs swelled as she bent forward to lick the knife marks on his chest. She could taste a buzz on her lips – perhaps the last flicker of the enchantment.

"But I have a demand for you too," Loki insisted. "I do not want you to let anyone see the mark I gave you. No one. It is for us only." He turned her on her back and covered the Kenaz rune with his palm, causing her to shudder with desire.

"I wasn't going to," Natasha declared. "This is for us only, as you say."

His eyes closed for a moment. "We speak as though we already know what is going to happen tomorrow. Can you really watch me leave for Asgard? Feel the silence and isolation surge back in my absence? No more kisses or conversation between us?"

She wrapped her arms around him and dug her nails into his back. "I don't have another choice."

"Yes, you do."

"No. I have made up my mind."

His lips drew back in a snarl. "I should call you a fool, except you are not. By all the moons in the realms! Will you not reconsider? Do you not want to be with me?"

"I do, very much, but I have a job. And I'm good at it."

"And you can turn away from me so easily?"

"Not easily, no."

Loki kissed her earlobe, licked her neck, blew on it. "Much as I dislike to admit it, you are far stronger than I am, Agent."

His cold breath on her throat caused little shivers to run up her legs and make her stomach tremble. "I do have one question," she managed to say.

"Well?"

"Who entered the safe house first?"

That made his lips curve in a wicked smile. "We came in together since I carried you. I suppose we both won the bet."

"And do I get to demand something from you?"

Again that wary look in his eyes. "What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"I  _would_ ask you to leave my realm alone," Natasha mused. "No more invasions, no more wars between Asgard and Midgard. But I also want that memory stick with the files."

"Which do you want more?"

"I want both." She held his gaze.

He nodded. "I agree to your first request. As long as your realm does not attack mine, you can say you have brokered peace between us. But, Natasha, I have my demand as well."

"Okay, what is it?"

"You will come and visit me in Asgard. I want to fuck you in my realm and on my terms, show you what it is to ride a king."

The crude word Loki used coupled with his delicate bone structure and feminine beauty made her mad with lust. The rune on her thigh burned under his demanding fingers as he stroked her skin of her legs and between her lips down there. "I – I don't care about kings. But I agree…" The words were forced out of her as she interrupted herself to kiss him deeply.

Although they had just finished, he entered her again with a single thrust, and she moaned as she felt his thick head hit that delicious spot inside, the one only he seemed able to find. The sensation made her ache with pleasure. "And you already know I will find you if you try to escape. I do what I want." His whisper was breathless, blanketed with desire.

She pushed him up so she could drag her nails across his wound, her gift, making him shiver violently. "There's no need for any threats. You can rely on my word, Loki." His only response was to groan and kiss her more sweetly, almost as though his thoughts were too intense for mere speech.

The morning would bring a cold journey back to Stark Tower, the long debriefing, an endless series of strategies and legal complications as she worked to bring the hospital down and free the patients. But for a few final, stolen hours she could fly in his arms, soar in the endless, starry sky that was Loki's mind.

Something nudged her hand, and Loki folded her fingers over the object – a small, plastic rectangle. A rush of unknown emotion, hot and sweet, filled her throat. "You can rely on me," she repeated.

Loki brought his forehead to hers so their green eyes could stare into the other half: the mysterious twin, the alien lover. "'Rely on you'," he repeated. "Yes, I know I can. Natasha, my Agent, my queen."

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE - Not a traditionally happy ending, but with these two original beings it just seemed natural for things to flow this way. And I have written a sequel... but more on that later.


End file.
